Hey everyone, we have another chapter done and ready for you all to read. Hope you're all staying safe from covid 19. Im sure many of us are currently experiancing our own form of quarintine during this time, but I hope to prodide you all with entertainment untill it is all over with. Feel free to leave me a review to tell me what you all thought. There won't be an ending authors note this time, fairly busy today.
Bleach is owned by Tite Kubo and Shounen jump. Fairy tail is owned by Hiro Mashima and weekly shounen magazine. I own NOTHING. This is all just for fun!
The wounded were filling up the field hospital, and quickly. Orihime had gotten only a few hours of rest before the alert had gone out, and she wondered how she was going to keep this up. It hadn't been ten minutes before Fourth Division's field hospital, set up further back and away from the shinigami front line, had soldiers carrying their wounded comrades in. Orihime had seen four die already. She had healed a dozen by now, and most of them had gotten up to rejoin the fight.
It felt so futile. What was the point of healing somebody if they were just going to go back and get themselves hurt or killed right away?
The concept of war had been ever present in her life for over a month, but it was only now that she started to understand the futility of it. It was such a horrible, horrible idea- set up a hospital, because you knew people were going to be hurt, just waiting for them to come in droves, and then work to healed them so they could do it all over again.
She knew all the reasons why. She knew they had a cause to fight for. But, in the midst of all this blood, with the choir of pained groans and cries from the wounded and dying, it was hard to understand why anyone would do something as terrible as war. Why did it have to be this way? Why did people have to be horrible to each other? Why…?
Orihime balled her fists, moving on to the next patient. Those were children's questions, and she could not let herself be overwhelmed now. Erza wouldn't, and neither would Orihime. Her shimmering shield formed again, and the soldier underneath it- a man with severed stumps where his arms should have been- began to heal. His pained groans went away, and his pale skin turned a healthier shade of pink. He looked at her with awe, flexing his fingers in disbelief.
"That'll do, sir," came Isane's voice. "If you're recovered, I'll have to ask you to sign out of this hospital."
"Y-yes, vice-captain!" cried the soldier, getting to his feet as Orihime's shield dispersed.
"How are you doing, Orihime?" asked Isane.
"I'm fine," Orihime said with a nod. "I- I'm sure you have a lot of people who need your help, so…"
"It's true I'm in charge while Captain Unohana is away," said Isane, "and that's exactly why I'm checking in on you. You're already doing great, but if it ever gets too much…"
"I'm fine," Orihime insisted.
"People think it's easy," said Isane. "They think the hard part's swinging a sword around, but it takes a moment to cut someone, and months to mend what happened in that moment. And, it's we who have to keep our calm when we see people with torn limbs or their guts hanging out. It's not easy. I know it isn't when you're young. So, I'm asking you again: are you okay?"
"I'll be fine," said Orihime evasively.
"Is that the truth of it?"
"I'm…" Orihime sighed. "I'm tired, and it's really scary, but I'm not going to say, 'I'm too young for this,' when I can actually help people. I appreciate you asking, but…"
Isane nodded. "I had to check. You're quite an asset, but…"
"If I get too tired, I'll take a break," said Orihime firmly, "but we both have work to do right now."
"Isn't that the truth…" Isane muttered, staring out into the distance.
The field hospital was built to accommodate more than five hundred at a time. It was filling up at an alarming rate.
They moved like a blur. Soifon was not one for poetic expressions; if she wrote a report, she would never say she had cut a swathe through the enemy ranks. She would report, with mind-numbing accuracy, how she had eliminated twelve arrancar in the span of two minutes before moving on to engage the main force in central Karakura. But, looking at the trail of dead and dying arrancar in her and Yoruichi's wake, it was easy to see how some less professional people would refer to it as a swathe, or some other unseemly description of what was really just bloody murder. Between the two of them, as they charged into battle, they had to have killed two dozen already. The troops they relieved didn't even have time to cheer before they had moved on. Soifon thought nothing of it. These arrancar were mere soldiers, as beneath her as any lowly officer. The more careful thing to do, she knew, would be to bide their time and wait for a greater foe to show themselves without wasting their strength, but Soifon was a trained killer, and she was in no mood to hold back. Besides, they would show up sooner rather than later. It was inevitable.
It didn't take long. They had slain only a few more before they both sensed two powerful energies closing in on them. A huge, lanky form sailed through the air, smashing a massive weapon down toward them. Yoruichi and Soifon were both gone long before it hit, reappearing a few yards back. The tall, lanky espada grinned maliciously, and took a step forward. He was flanked by a much more stoic companion, with dark skin and a head that was entirely bald, save for a ridge of bones starting at the crest of his skull and running down. He was tall and muscular, although his companion was at least half again his size.
But size, Soifon knew, was not what mattered most.
"Nnoitra Gilga and Zommari Leroux," said Yoruichi quietly, shooting Soifon a glance. She nodded back. They had both done their homework, at least, even if it was mostly based on Grimmjow's speculations. Nnoitra was hardy but slow, whereas Zommari was fast and deadly.
"Ya hear that, Zommari?" said the espada, letting his strange polearm rest on his shoulder. "We're famous. Ya gonna shit yer breeches, shinigami?"
"You would be wise to take them seriously, Nnoitra," said Zommari, eyeing the two of them carefully. "That is Shihoin Yoruichi and her protégé. I would relish a chance to test the limits of their power, but you underestimate them at your peril."
They had done their research, too, it seemed.
"Pfah." Nnoitra sneered. "What's a sissy woman or two? Neither of 'em could even break my hide."
Yoruichi shot Soifon a quick glance.
"Which one do you want?"
"Well…" said Soifon, surprised that Yoruichi had even asked. She had assumed her old master would make the call for her.
"I know I would run circles around Zommari," said Yoruichi, keeping her eyes on target, "but you're a precision fighter, and you would struggle to wound the likes of Nnoitra."
"I agree," said Soifon, "but would you fare any better?"
Yoruichi reached into her belt, and what she pulled out made Soifon's eyes widen. It looked like a small knife, not even the size of a tantou, its blade no longer than six inches. She hadn't seen it in over a century.
"Your zanpakutou," said Soifon, almost shocked. "I thought you had lost it."
"Not lost," said Yoruichi. "I just… put it aside for a little while. After I left, I wasn't much of a shinigami, and this is a tool for murder. But, now… well, I can't afford to hold back."
Nnoitra gave a coarse, rude laugh.
"That lil' toothpick's supposed to break me?" he said through the chuckles. "Alright, fuckin' bring it, then! I wanna see ya try, bitch. It'll be a laugh."
Without waiting, he strolled forward, breaking into a run. His first strike, clumsy but powerful, did not even come close to hitting, as Yoruichi somersaulted out of the way. She shot him a mocking smile.
"Stand still, ya little bitch!" snarled the espada, and chased after her. Yoruichi moved back, leading the espada around a corner. Soifon recognized it for what it was. Yoruichi wanted to give herself some space, and Soifon as well. Whatever it would take to kill the espada would not be fast or smooth.
"As insulting as it is to be so easily dismissed," said Zommari, staring down Soifon, "I am outranked. We both are, it seems. I do hope you will make for an appropriate challenge while Nnoitra finishes her."
"Do you really believe that?" said Soifon neutrally. "He is already dead. So are you."
"Mayhap," said Zommari, "but such is the life of a hollow. Brutal, ruthless, and fast."
As he spoke the last syllable he moved, and Soifon sensed him coming before her thoughts caught up. On autopilot, she dodged under a roundhouse kick, feeling the rush of air as the leg grazed against her tight-fitting robes. She somersaulted back, gracefully evading another kick. The espada kept his arms up, but his legs did the real work, a flurry of blows coming at her too quickly to even see. She dodged, weaved and evaded until finally, her leg met his, both kicks colliding mid-air. They both froze momentarily, keeping perfect balance on one leg.
"Excellent form," he said, his eyes narrowing.
Soifon reached for her blade.
"I'm assuming," she said, as she pulled it free, "that Aizen gave you all the information you needed. I am surprised, though. I would not expect such a low-ranked espada to have had the foresight to study it."
"Who but a low-ranked espada would benefit the most from such knowledge?" said Zommari, seeming to not rise to her bait. "Captain Soifon. Shikai ability incredibly potent, allowing it to kill without fail any enemy if it hits twice in the same spot. A masterful martial arts practitioner, although lacking in maturity."
"That was your lord's assessment of me?"
"Is it inaccurate?"
Soifon shrugged. "No."
The next moment she was behind him, her shikai wordlessly activated. Suzumebachi's stinger came right at him, but at the last second he redirected her blow by the wrist, launching a high kick to counter. Soifon gracefully dodged under it, and took a stance as she recovered.
"This contest will be decided by skill alone. I could think of no better way to do battle. To take the head of the head assassin… that will be quite a feat."
"If you're going to fight, fight," said Soifon. "Don't talk."
"Well said."
He lunged at her again, and their deadly dance resumed.
Erza had walked through the pandemonium that had descended upon Karakura with unexpected calm, and it had come as a surprise to Momo when she suddenly dashed up to a rooftop. Momo had followed quickly behind her captain, breathing hard after the sprint up.
"Captain?" said Momo, looking at Erza with a puzzled expression. The sounds of war were all around them, the cries of dying men filling the air, but Erza looked straight ahead as if she didn't even notice it.
"They're coming," said Erza, drawing her blade. "I can feel them. Can't you?"
Momo looked straight ahead, and swallowed. Amidst all the chaos, she had missed it. An immensely powerful reiatsu signature, heading right in their direction.
"Halibel," said Momo breathlessly.
"And her cronies," Erza confirmed. "I'll take her here, away from the others. You will have to handle her servants. We can't let this conflict spill over onto our fellow shinigami. They're fighting and dying for us already, and they do not need our help in that endeavor."
Momo nodded. She felt a chill run down her spine. She had just barely triumphed over Halibel's terrible trio, and it had happened through surprise, through them underestimating her, without any one of them even releasing their blades. Now she would face them all, no doubt hell bent on revenge. But, she worried more about Erza- Halibel had utterly destroyed her last time. She might die, here and now.
"Don't worry," said Erza, and Momo felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The four of their enemies were becoming visible now in the distance, and they had little time left. "I'll be fine."
"Don't tell me that," said Momo quietly. "You won't be. Even if you win… even if you win, it might kill you. How can I-"
"When I win," Erza corrected her firmly, "and don't ever think differently. If you let your concern for me cloud your judgment, distract you, then you will have let yourself down along with me and everyone else who depends on you. You must focus on your own battle, Momo, just as I will focus on mine. Will you do that?"
"Yes!" Momo said firmly, with assertiveness borne out of desperation.
"Good," said Erza. "I know you can take them. You'll come back to me, alive and in one piece. But, if it gets hairy… don't be afraid to ask for help."
"I won't."
There was so much else Momo would like to say. About love, about devotion, about loyalty to each other. Last words to one another, things that should not go unsaid if either of them died. But, Erza had held back from it, and Momo knew there was a good reason. No distractions. The war was upon them, and very soon they'd be fighting for their lives. Halibel and her servants were close now, close enough that they could almost see their faces. Momo felt Erza's hand squeeze her shoulder slightly, and Momo briefly took her hand. No words were exchanged, only that one affectionate gesture.
Then she was upon them. But, rather than the espada launching herself at them immediately, she slowed to a halt, standing in the air some ten feet away, looking down on them from above.
"Halibel," said Erza neutrally.
"Scarlet."
"This is between you and me," said Erza. "Let's let our seconds settle their battles amongst themselves." With her thumb, she gestured to a building a few hundred meters down, as of yet undisturbed by war.
"I would not give anyone else the satisfaction," said Halibel coldly. "She will not save you this time, Erza Scarlet."
"She won't need to," said Erza confidently. She nodded to Momo, just as Halibel nodded to her servants.
"Do your best, all three of you," she said, "and come back to me alive when I am through here."
Momo turned around, shooting Erza one last, longing look, before dashing away with Apache, Mila Rose and Sun-sun at her heels.
Erza did not look back as Momo ran. Just one look might be enough to get her thinking the wrong things, like what would happen if she lost, what she'd even do if she… if she…
Those were exactly the thoughts she had struggled to push out of her head. She forced herself to focus, staring down Halibel. The espada was slowly descending to stand on the roof opposite her. Staring at Erza viciously under that collar of hers, she slowly pulled out her blade.
"I am surprised to see you standing here so boldly," said Halibel, "given the thrashing I gave you last."
"I remember you being taken by surprise and going all out to defeat me," Erza retorted, "and even if the gap between us were so vast, I would still be standing here. I'm too stubborn to know when I'm beaten."
Halibel snorted. "That much is true, at least."
"Tell me, Halibel," said Erza calmly, "what do you expect to get out of this? When I am dead and Aizen triumphant, what do you think will happen? You have never been foolish, or idealistic. What will happen, Tier?"
Halibel undid her jacket, sliding it off and revealing the bony cluster of her mask. It was a frightening appearance, and she was hard to read.
"What does it matter?"
"You are part of the greatest battle our worlds have ever known, and you ask me why it matters?"
Halibel fell silent, and Erza sensed something about her, as if she was hesitating.
"You're not like Jellal," Erza continued, her tone fierce. "You don't really believe Aizen has your best interest at heart. He threw you at us like a blunt instrument, to kill and get killed while he prepares his ritual. You know better."
Halibel was quiet for some time, until finally she replied, "I hoped for quite some time that he was as good as he seemed. Hope- as foolish as it may seem, I did hope he would bring about the peace and prosperity he promised. A better world, for myself and for my own. Even I am not immune to such dreams, it seems."
"Nobody is a fool to dream for more."
"Perhaps not," said Halibel. "I do know better. He is the same as any other warlord or self-styled king. I saw in his eye what Jellal refuses to see. He does not care about the lives he throws away, only about his goals. Every last one of us, myself included, are but pawns to be used to accomplish his ends."
"If you know that," said Erza sharply, "if you know he's cruel, callous and uncaring, why do you serve? Why bother?"
"Because the one thing that sets him apart from power-hungry fools like Barragan," said Halibel, her eyes narrowing, "is that he can actually do it. He has the strength and the vision to bring the Gotei to its knees. United under him, we will finally have peace. Stability. I no longer believe I can trust his honeyed words, but what I can trust is a man's lust for power. Order under a tyrant is better than no order at all."
"I get so sick and tired of hearing that," Erza spat. "As if the likes of him will ever view the likes of us as anything more than disposable. He used me, Halibel, just as he's using you."
"What do you expect will happen here?" said Halibel bluntly. "That I will see the wisdom of your words and turn my hand against the man who has given me everything? I am a tool- but I am at least a tool with power. A useful tool."
"Then there is not much left to say, is there?"
"Indeed," said Halibel. "Unleash your bankai, Erza. I will not slay you before you are ready to give it your all."
Erza raised her blade, and as her reiatsu climbed, she called the full name of her zanpakutou. She stood before Halibel in resplendent armour, defiant, proud.
"Pride, Halibel?" she said sternly. "You have changed some. The Halibel I knew back then would have viewed it as a luxury. Excess baggage unfit for a true survivor."
Halibel held her blade out by the side, and just like Erza, she called its name. A wave of power made the building tremble, and there she stood in front of Erza, face bared at last.
"Perhaps," she said, "it no longer matters."
Erza's blade shifted, leaving her with Render in her hands. In her mind, she could hear Hagane no Tamashii cry out for blood, urging her to use her full power. She ignored his cries, and raised her blade. She let out a loud battle cry, and charged.
Their great blades met with great force, little shockwaves of force emanating from both of them. Halibel was still every bit the expert, parrying Erza's strikes with perfect timing. Erza attacked with furious strength, though, and momentarily forced Halibel back a step. It was not to last. As Erza aimed a slash at her opponent's head, Halibel batted her blade aside and went for a counter thrust. Erza bent back, dodging under the strike, but her momentum was broken. She brought Render up just in time to parry the next strike. With great, powerful blows, Halibel forced Erza back, each parry shaking her arms and threatening to loosen her grip on her sword.
"Pathetic!" Halibel spat. "Where have all your tricks gone, Erza? Where is the lightning, the fire, the floods of water?"
Parrying with lightning speed, Erza knew she would have to time this perfectly. She had no strength left to waste on anything.
"Mister."
Ikkaku was not sure, at first, who the tall, muscular human was. He had dark skin, and his right arm was clearly not natural, armored and colored in a strange black and reddish pattern. His reiatsu was off the charts, too; he was clearly no ordinary human being. His shirt was stained with blood, his hands even more so. Crushed and broken arrancar lay in his wake. Ikkaku shook his head to gain his bearings. He had taken a bit of a blow to the temple earlier, having thrown himself right into the melee with bitter gusto. The attack wave had cleared, but he couldn't see any of his comrades from Eleventh. Where Yumichika had gone, he wasn't sure.
"You-" said Ikkaku, grunting. "You're one of the auxiliaries, ain't you?"
"Sado Yasutora," said the young man. He was young, Ikkaku realized, just a kid with a lot of power. A lot of power. "Are you alright, mister?" he repeated.
"It's Ikkaku, remember?" said Ikkaku, and shrugged dismissively. "Worry about yourself, why don't ya?"
"As you wish."
"The fuck did everyone go, anyway?" Ikkaku snarled. "Did they all fuck off and die already?"
The sounds of combat had not died down. They were there still, in the distance. Eleventh had, in typical fashion, taken to the frontlines, Ikkaku leading the charge. Right now, he wanted not to fight, but to kill. To push away the memory of Iba, the friend who had died for Ikkaku's pride and arrogance. He had killed and killed and killed, but it wasn't enough. His battle group was all dead, he realized. The squad he had led had perished, spread about on the streets along with the arrancar they had engaged. A cold rage burned in him, and he felt like nothing could slake it.
"The arrancar are in a frenzy," said the human- Sado, "and they would not turn away from us unless they had a reason to. I believe we have been claimed by something bigger."
"A sad state it is, when a human has quicker wits than the shinigami next to him."
The voice rumbled with a deep baritone, contemptuous and condescending. The arrancar walked around a street corner, as arrogant as he was massive. He truly was something to behold- Ikkaku had never seen a bigger arrancar. He stood almost twice as tall as Captain Zaraki. His head was small, but only compared to his barrel-chested body with its ham-sized fists and tree-like legs. A bone fragment traced his lower jaw, and there were two symmetrical green markings on his cheeks.
"Hey, big man," said Ikkaku, a darkly excitable tone in his voice as he took a step forward, "what's your name?"
"Poww," said the arrancar, "servant to King Barragan. In his name, I will take both your lives."
"Fuckin' A," said Ikkaku with a grin on his face. "I'm Madarame Ikkaku, third seat of Eleventh Division."
"Be careful!" urged Sado.
"I'm all done with 'careful'," said Ikkaku disdainfully. "You can tag along if you want, but I'm taking him." He turned his eye to the arrancar. "You strong? Proper strong?"
"Do come and find out," said Poww.
Ikkaku let his reiatsu rise, standing astride with his sword and sheath held low.
"Feast your eyes on this, kid," he said to Sado, "'cause I'm about to tear this fucker a new asshole. Bankai: Ryuumon Ho'ozukimaru!"
There was the great blade, floating over his shoulders, and the enormous two blades in his hands, the spade in his right and the guan dao in his left.
"Oh?" said Poww, raising an eyebrow. "So, there was more to you than expected-"
He was cut short by Ikkaku, screaming his battle cry of come on come on come on, hollering like a madman as he leaped into the air, his weapons aiming for the arrancar's head. Poww brought up an arm to block, and though the spade fell short as its thrust failed to reach the arrancar's skull, the guan dao bit into his arm. He staggered back in surprise, blood dripping from the cut in his massive forearm. He gave Ikkaku the kind of look people reserved for particularly irksome vermin, and balled his fists. Ikkaku came at him again, slashing and thrusting, but the arrancar proved surprisingly nimble for his size. He skipped back, avoiding the cuts, and backhanded the shinigami. Ikkaku blocked the strike, but nevertheless went flying. He skidded back down the street on his back, tearing his uniform top. He got to his feet as quickly as he could, but Poww had already followed up with another attack, closing the distance quickly. Ikkaku braced himself, but to his surprise, Sado was there, blocking the strike with his strange arm. He shook under the blow, sliding back, but he remained standing. He grabbed the arrancar by the wrist, and with a fierce cry shoved him back.
As Ikkaku got to his feet, the massive teenager turned his head to look at him.
"Mr. Ikkaku," he said firmly, "you are strong, but so is he."
"Well, thank you, captain obvious," Ikkaku grumbled, getting to his feet.
"Leave the mindless rushing to me," said Sado. "Raw strength is all I have."
"Who the hell do you think you're talking to, kid?" muttered Ikkaku. "I'm Eleventh. Brute force is what we're all about."
"Then let us at least use a simple strategy."
"That being?"
"I'll go low, you go high."
"I can do that," Ikkaku muttered. The strike had cleared his head a little. No, he wasn't ready to die yet- not when there were so many of the damned arrancar left to kill. Poww raised his arms for another swing. Sado charged, and right behind him came Ikkaku.
Some things just never changed. For the first time in ages, Lisa was staring down enemies out for her blood, for her life. Not just any enemies, either; elite arrancar in the service of an espada. Just like so many times before, Lisa stood with her guard up, staring them down, whereas Mashiro seemed entirely unconcerned, cheery as ever.
It was like riding a bike. Everything felt so familiar, like she hadn't left it all behind a hundred years ago. The weight of her blade felt so familiar in her hand, just like the stance she had taken felt familiar.
"So, whatcha think, Lisa?" said Mashiro, who had drawn her blade but hadn't bothered to take a stance. Her carelessness had always bothered Lisa, almost as much as the fact that she usually got more kills with her antics. Lisa wondered if that, too, was going to end up repeating. "It'll be a cinch, right?"
"These guys aren't like anything we've fought before, Mashiro," said Lisa neutrally. "Stronger. Faster. They've got zanpakutou, just like us."
Mashiro shrugged. "They're just human-shaped hollows. At the end of the day, a hollow is just a hollow."
Most people would have taken her casual dismissal as overconfidence, or arrogance, or even contempt. Lisa knew better. Mashiro had a very simple approach, but it usually worked. In essence, she was right. A hollow was a hollow. Special abilities? Most higher-ranked hollows had them. Strength and speed? Much the same story. Besides, unlike most shinigami, they truly understood the mentality of a hollow. If anyone had what it took to kill an arrancar, it would be a visored.
"I like a bit of confidence in a woman," said the first of the arrancar. There were three of them, and they had ceased their chase for lower-ranked shinigami the moment they had sensed the two visored. They were a curious trio, even by hollow standards. The one who had just spoken looked relatively normal, shirtless with muscles rippling under his lean form. His mask took the form of a bony helmet, obscuring his forehead and lining his cheekbones, and what looked like red tattoos lined his chest and arms. His companions looked less appealing. To his side stood a giant of a man, wide and bulky with a bit of a gut. His mask, too, looked like a helmet, although far less elegant than the sleek, pointed mask fragment of his companion, rather more like a bony bowl that sprouted a pair of tusks. The third member stood out the most. Although most definitely male, he wore what could only be described as some sort of hideous jacket with generous cleavage, except where there would have been breasts, there were immaculate, gleaming pectoral muscles, toned to put even his lean and muscular companion to shame. His pants were no less ridiculous, wrapping tightly around his muscular thighs except that, as they approached his ankles, they widened comically. With his wavy, long, purple hair, he looked as if he had just burst out of some kind of bizarre adventure.
"What was that?" said Lisa, eyeing them.
"Ya deaf?" said the first one. "I said, I like a girl with confidence-"
"Oh, that explains why I didn't hear," said Lisa. "I go deaf when I hear a cliché. Why don't you just say 'I like a girl with spirit' and drool a bit lecherously while you're at it?"
The arrancar bristled at that, but Lisa ignored him.
"Mashiro," she said, "are you ready to do this?"
"Mmm-hmm!" said Mashiro cheerily, her voice a little bit sing-song. "Shikai, mask, or both?"
"One thing at a time, I think," said Lisa, "but I think I'd like to see those arrogant grins wiped off their faces. Let's show them what real hollow power looks like."
"Roger that!" cheered Mashiro.
"Hey, you bitches!" snarled the same arrancar. "Don't you ignore us. I'm Abirama Redder, servant to His Majesty, King Barragan. In his name, we will kill you both to prove our devotion!"
"Huh. 'Your Majesty' is a pretty funny title for somebody playing second fiddle to a shinigami like Aizen," said Lisa.
"What the hell did you just say about him, you little bitch?" snapped Abirama. "I'll have you know he's the strongest of espada, and-"
He paused, as Lisa and Mashiro each formed a claw over their faces with their hands, and pulled down. In an instant, their masks appeared over their faces. The flamboyantly muscular arrancar gasped, and Abirama looked surprised, as well.
"See, the thing is," said Lisa, her voice reverberating menacingly, "I can't stand men who talk a big game, and I'm not too keen on hollows, either. Mashiro?"
"You got it!"
In an instant Mashiro had closed the gap, and a massive roundhouse kick connected with the face of the flamboyant arrancar. He went flying, crashing into the ground far in the distance.
"Charlotte!" Abirama cried angrily. Somehow, the name didn't surprise Lisa.
"All yours, Mashiro. Keep them busy," Lisa cried, charging the bulky arrancar. Blocking her blade with his own at the last second, he endured her charge. But, as he strained against the force of her assault, a cero began to form in the cross-shaped eye slit of Lisa's mask. The arrancar dashed out of the way, but Lisa redirected at the last second, sending him flying as well.
"The nerve! You people simply have no manners!"
The sneering voice came from the effeminate arrancar, Charlotte. He had recovered remarkably quickly, Lisa noted; these were, indeed, no ordinary hollows.
"Back for more already?" she said, taunting him.
"You have no idea, girlfriend," he said with a malicious smile, "and don't think what you did to poor Nirgge will hold him back for more than a moment. I have no idea what you are, but you're in for the fight of your life!"
"More like appetizers," Lisa said, bringing her blade to bear. She charged Charlotte, realizing that she might face a counter-attack any moment if she didn't. His blade met hers, and so a deadly dance began.
Mashiro weaved and dodged gracefully, evading one strike after another. Abirama was good, very good, but he lacked training with a blade, and it showed.
"Ya know," said Mashiro politely, parrying his strike and redirecting it to the side, "have you ever thought that maybe you should just try it with your fists? I thought I was out o' shape, but I guess fighting with swords is just like riding a bicycle."
"The hell do you mean, woman?" Abirama snarled. "Are you mocking me, bitch?"
"I mean, a little bit, I guess," she said with a shrug, "but if you put your sword down, I will too. Let's do it man to man! C'mon, it would be cool. You kinda look like Bruce Lee. It would be epic!"
"Bruce… who?" said Abirama perplexedly. He stared at her, befuddled. She was clearly dangerous. She was clearly powerful. But, at the same time, she had the demeanour of a child.
"Please?" said Mashiro. "Look, I'll go first."
Abirama's eyes widened as she slid her sword into its sheath, and held her fists up in a traditional, fisticuffs kind of manner.
"Come on, tough guy!" she said, making little jabs in the air. "Man to man!"
"…You're not even a man," said Abirama.
"Details!" said Mashiro dismissively.
To his surprise, Abirama found himself sheathing his sword. Why not? If she made to draw again, then so would he, and he wasn't getting anywhere. But, in a physical contest, he would certainly have the edge. He was more comfortable like this, anyway. To rip and tear… that was the domain of a hollow. Oh, yes, she would regret this. Abirama took a stance, his fists raised.
"C'mon, c'mon!" Mashiro said playfully, continuing to jab at the air, weaving around in the air with smooth steps that seemed more like a dance than a move set. "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!"
"Woman, I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Abirama snarled, and surged forward. He lunged at her with his fists, and just like before, Mashiro weaved out of the way, always just out of reach, always where his fists were not. Continually pushing her back, he tried to analyze her moves. Defensive. There was a pattern to it, of course. If he'd just twist in the right way when she ducked left next time, he'd grab her. When she was grappled, she'd be done for. He feinted at her a few times, then twisted left to follow her movement, and-
The next thing Abirama knew, he had slammed into the ground. He stood up on uneasy legs, not even remembering how he'd gotten there. His cheekbone ached furiously, and blood trickled from it. The strange, hollow-faced shinigami stood there in the sky, some thirty metres above him. He had… how had he ended up down here?
Stumbling onto the street, he realized part of the building behind him was in ruins. From where he had fallen. He reached a hand up to touch his aching cheek. Part of his mask fragment was gone, broken. It had cut his cheek on the way out, leaving a sore gash. How…
That was right. Just when he'd thought he had her, there had been a knee to his face, and then a roundhouse kick…
Her moves had been so fast.
"Come on, big fella!" she called, sounding genuinely encouraging. "You didn't run out of steam with that little love tap, did you?"
The taunt, mocking even in its sincere positivity, got Abirama out of his shocked and dazed state. He was a soldier in Lord Barragan's personal force. He would not be shown up like this. Angrily, he dashed up, drawing his blade as he did.
"Aww, boo," said Mashiro as she met his charge, their blades grinding against each other. "I was looking forward to a real hands-on kind of fight. It would have been so cool to just go all Enter the Dragon on you."
"Shut up, you obnoxious woman!"
"Spoilsport," said Mashiro, parrying his strikes with infuriating ease. Abirama was angry now. He was losing his cool, and he knew it.
Mashiro sighed inwardly, letting herself get pushed back. People these days just had no sense of fun. Well, if he wasn't going to make it interesting, then she'd just have to end this. She focused on his swordplay- aggressive, precise, on point, but lacking finesse. He came at her with a wide sideways slash, and Mashiro saw the opening. She caught the strike on her blade, and let it run its course, bending backwards to let it pass over her harmlessly. For just a moment, Abirama was open; his strike was too powerful, too fast, and he had overcommitted. Spinning a leg up gracefully, she slammed her heel into his nose. Abirama reeled back, and Mashiro followed up the attack with a forward thrust. The arrancar tried to raise his blade for a parry, but he was too late. Mashiro was already inside his guard. Her blade slid through his ribs with some resistance, running him halfway through. His eyes widened as he stared into her expressionless mask. Malicious, yellow eyes stared into his as he lost his footing, falling backward. Mashiro wrenched the blade free, and Abirama gasped with pain, losing his balance and nearly falling. He had no time to recover, though, before Mashiro spun around, and slammed an axe kick into his midsection. Abirama spat blood and gall as he was bent over, his head almost touching his legs as he was sent flying. He crashed into the ground, dust kicked up in the now wrecked street corner he had landed in. Gracefully, Mashiro followed where he went, taking her time descending.
Although she had by no means lost hope, Lisa was very keenly aware that she was throwing dice with death. Charlotte, as bizarre as he looked, was monstrously quick, whereas Nirgge was equally monstrous in his strength and endurance. Handling either one would have been easy enough, but both at once posed an… inconvenience.
It was funny, though. She had thought she would be rusty, that her combat abilities would have been weakened to some degree, that she would have to rely on pure hollow power to compensate, but although her swordplay was not quite as sharp as it had once been, she was faster and more agile than she had realized, sharper in every way. The hollow in her head revelled in true fighting, and lent her every ounce of its power. In all this time, they had seen little in the way of mortal combat. Aside from the odd hollow that strayed a little too close and had to be dispatched with haste and discretion, the visored had lived a quiet life. The occasional spar had been their only practice. It came as a surprise to Lisa, then, weaving and ducking back and forth, that she kept pace with the two arrancar quite easily, that she slipped back into the role of a warrior like she would slip on a smooth glove.
Some things had changed, though. In all her time as an officer, combat had always made her very tense. She had never lost her nerve, but there was always that underlying fear. It seemed gone now, replaced by a quiet, practical confidence, an absolute determination to do what she had set out to do. She would kill these two arrancar and then move forward. There was a way, and she would find it.
Sword and sheath in hand, she parried a vicious flurry of blows from Charlotte, then leapt out of the way of a massive swing from Nirgge. In return, she slammed a foot in his face with a high kick, and as he reeled back, she skipped away a few paces to get some space. Charlotte was already creeping up on her from the side, trying to flank her.
"Who are you, sis?" said Charlotte curiously. "You dress like some prey human, but you're obviously not. You've got power like a shinigami, but you're obviously not that either. And that hollow's mask… even I find that distasteful."
"The only distasteful thing here is your awful top," said Lisa dismissively.
"It's there to show off my beautiful body, you tasteless tramp!" snarled Charlotte.
"Enough of this," said Lisa. If there was one thing that really was tiring in this battle, it was this prima donna of a man. "It's clear we're not settling this as we are."
"On that count, I agree," Nirgge rumbled. He had recovered, and faced her down, blade in hand.
Lisa brought up her blade, along with its sheath, and slammed them together as her reiatsu rose. "Smash, Haguro Tonbo!" she cried, and the blade transformed. In its place was a long spear, longer than Lisa, herself, ending in a sharp-edged monk's spade.
"Ready to get serious, huh?" said Charlotte. "Then I will as well-"
"Nijuuichijou Tonbokudari," said Lisa coldly, aiming the spade at him. No sooner had she spoken the words than a line of red appeared across his chest, a streak of black having passed through it. Two more appeared on his arm and shoulder; black arrow-head shapes similar to the spade she had pointed at the flamboyant arrancar. In shock, Charlotte stumbled back.
"Stronger than I recall," said Lisa, and with the way her voice reverberated, she sounded more menacing than ever. "Let's see how well you hold up, big guy."
Nirgge readied himself, seeming hesitant for the first time. This little girl was proving to be a bigger fish than he had expected.
"Scalp, Aguila!"
Abirama was just barely in control of himself. He had always prided himself on his strength as a soldier in service to King Barragan, and he had always considered himself to be the best warrior the king had to depend on. To be shown up by such a careless, juvenile enemy who was nevertheless more than capable of putting him down was infuriating. He had crawled out of the crater she had sent him into, broken and bleeding, and he had realized it had been foolish to hold back. Now, as his blade released, he felt his bones mending and torn muscles regenerating. Standing tall, his true form released, he felt his emotions cooling. The little half-hollow freak would rue the day she had crossed him, now.
He stood up straight. Great, red, feathered wings sprouted from his back, and his feet ended in predatory bird-like claws. His mask had grown, covering his face with the visage of a bird of prey; a vicious white beak lined with black.
"Oooh, that's pretty cool!" Mashiro beamed. The despicable shinigami had landed near him, quite casually, and Abirama turned to stare at her.
"Come on! Come on!" she said cheerily. "Won't you say, 'Gordon's alive!' for me? Or, ooh, I know! 'Come, my hawkmen!' Please?"
"…I hate you," said Abirama coldly. Spreading his wings, he readied himself. She would regret coming so close. He readied himself, felt the little pieces of bone slide into the place in his wings. He flexed the majestic appendages, and cried, "Devorar pluma!"
His wings flapped in one quick motion, sending a flurry of razor sharp projectiles at Mashiro. They struck dead-centre. There was no way she could have dodged. Oh, how he would enjoy tormenting her…
"Huh. That was pretty cool, I gotta admit."
Abirama's eyes widened in disbelief. The half-hollow bastard hadn't even bothered to try to dodge. Instead, there lay about a dozen razor-sharp feathers at her feet, broken. She, herself, looked unharmed, her blade raised and pointed forward.
"You… blocked all of them?" he said in disbelief.
"Well, the one that would have hit, anyway," she said with a shrug. "Anyway, since you powered up- and it's really cool, by the way- I guess I'll have to match it."
She held her blade up and cried, "Blast, Ryuge!"
The blade shifted, changing appearance slightly. It straightened out, its blade widening a little in girth, and the hilt gained a strangely ornate appearance, lined in gold. Mashiro held it pointed forward, her off-hand pointed to her back. She raised it a little, and Abirama felt a great surge of raw power. Hurriedly he flapped his wings again, sending another wave of razor-sharp bones at the shinigami, but before they could impact there was a great, bright light. Instinctively, Abirama ducked, and it saved his life for the moment. He found himself thrown to the ground, his skin scraping against the asphalt as he slid back some twenty yards.
"Yeah, I really don't get a lot of fancy abilities," said Mashiro, advancing on the arrancar. "It's just a whole lot o' power. Kicking people's a lot more fun."
Abirama struggled to get to his feet. He had been glanced by the blow, and his head was spinning. His left arm was ruined, broken in at least two places. A large part of his right arm's skin was an angry red, badly burnt by the blast. As he got to his knees, he got the vague sense of a scene of utter destruction around him. The street was torn up several blocks down, dirt kicked up where the light had struck. It was like a cero, except faster and much more brutal. He tried to force himself up, up, ready to strike, but the next moment he felt her hand grabbing him by the mask, pushing him down. Her grip was like hardened steel.
"Like I said," Mashiro said apologetically, "you look really cool, and it's a real shame what I've got to do."
She raised her blade, and Abirama instinctively raised his good arm to block. Her blade ran through his forearm and into his chest. He gurgled as it pierced his lung.
"You did great," said Mashiro encouragingly. Abirama stared, petrified, at the cero building in her palm, aimed right at his head. "Nice knowing you, Mr. Arrancar."
The last thing Abirama Redder saw was a very bright, red light.
Nirgge fell toward the ground, clutching his throat. Releasing his zanpakutou had done nothing to improve his speed, and it had done nothing to prevent Haguro Tonbo from cutting through his throat and spine in a single, viciously effective strike. The arrancar would thrash for some time, but he was dead already. Lisa wished, faintly, that she had the time to put him out of his misery. That was out of her hands, though, as the bizarre Charlotte had recovered from her earlier attack. He stood parallel to her above the ground now, and though it was clear he too had employed resurreccion, he did not look all that different. It mostly seemed like a change in wardrobe. More skin was shown than before, and an actual skirt hung from his midsection.
"You know," said Lisa dryly, "if you wanted to be a woman, couldn't you have just asked Aizen to make you that way?"
"Puh-lease," said Charlotte, lightly placing the tips of his fingers on his muscular chest. "I am all man, sweetheart. A beautiful, stylish, elegant man."
"I can see that."
"Besides, I'm not going to be lectured on fashion by you. That sailor outfit is so boring."
"This coming from the freakshow who makes the rest of his people seem normal by comparison."
"Pfah," Charlotte huffed. "Just the kind of small-minded intolerance I would expect from a bigoted shinigami."
"You're a freak," said Lisa coolly, "and that's because you're a psychotic murderer who eats people's souls and then acts like you're anything but a freak. Your style, awful as it is, is entirely beside the point."
Charlotte's mockingly calm, superior façade dropped, replaced by a menacing, cold look. "You take that back."
"Make me."
In an instant, the muscular man was upon her, his skirt fluttering in the wind as he launched a spinning kick. At the same time, Lisa thrust her spear. The kick fell short as Charlotte was forced to dodge. Lisa pushed the attack, relentlessly thrusting her blade. It had been so long since she had done this, used the zanpakutou's full release in mortal combat, and it felt as natural as anything even after all the time that had passed. The muscular man parried with his forearms, evaded and dodged, but she undeniably had the advantage. He slipped back a few steps, just barely able to evade a solid hit.
"You're pretty good," he said with a cruel smirk. "Not that good, though."
"Good enough to nick your perfect skin," said Lisa. Charlotte looked down, only noticing now the multitude of little cuts on his forearms and shoulders. His hierro had protected him well enough, but it only went so far.
"Would you look at that," said Lisa flatly. "I guess you'll have a hard time showing off that beautiful body, now."
Just like she had predicted, it made him angry. His face twisted in a mask of impotent rage, and he surged forward in blind anger.
"You little bitch, I'll rip your nose and ears off, and then we'll see who's ugly-"
His angry tirade was cut short by a blade in his throat. He had run toward her too recklessly, too quickly, and just like she had expected, there was an opening. His rant ended in a gurgle, blood sliding down the edge of the spade.
"You see," said Lisa, holding the spear in a gentle grip, "the real difference between us isn't who dresses better. It's which one of us can keep their head in the game. And you," she said, and with a single twist of her wrist she let the blade sink deeper into his neck until it pushed against his spine, "you got hung up on something unimportant."
She thrust forward, and felt his skull sever from his spine. Charlotte's eyes gave her one last outraged, defiant glare before they rolled back into his skull. Limp, he fell toward the ground.
"Oh, cool!"
It was Mashiro, sauntering up next to Lisa.
"I was wondering if you were going to need any help," the green-haired visored said cheerily, "but look at you, finishing the bad guy with cool one-liners and everything!"
"Focus" muttered Lisa, annoyed and a little embarrassed that Mashiro had caught the tail end of what was, strictly speaking, an unnecessary exchange. The smart thing to do was to just kill one's enemies and be done with it. Lecturing them was stupid. Some things, she guessed, didn't change all that much.
"What for?" said Mashiro
"Look," said Lisa, pointing her spear upward. There, well up in the sky stood the figure of a wizened old man with a muscular frame, staring them both down. He was a font of immense power. Lisa knew this would be what they called an espada, and a strong one, at that.
"Huh," said Mashiro. "He looks dead hard, doesn't he?"
"Yeah," said Lisa gravely.
"Let's work together?"
"Keep your head in the game," said Lisa, agreeing without even thinking about it, "or you'll end up like they did."
"Roger!"
"I mean it," said Lisa firmly. "No showboating, no nonsense. Whatever that is, it'll take all we have."
"You got it, boss lady."
Lisa sighed. It was always impossible to tell when Mashiro was ready to get serious. Then again… there was nobody she'd rather have next to her.
The way things changed sometimes felt bizarre. Lisanna had been promoted perhaps a month ago, but it felt like an eternity had passed. Less than a day ago, she had been out of commission after a brutally one-sided defeat. That, too, felt like it happened a long time ago, like something out of a dream. This whole debacle felt unreal. If she lived, she would be put into the history books. Yet, here and now, with the cries of war all about her, it felt somehow less real than the pages of a book.
Perhaps it was the shock of battle coupled with the weight of responsibility. Or, perhaps it was the espada she was staring down, bizarre even by the standards of his own monstrous kind. He had an elongated glass tank in the place of a head, where two little skulls floated, each much too small to make for a head of its own.
"Aaroniero Arruruerie," she said.
The espada bowed very slightly, speaking to her in a deep voice.
"You know of me."
"Very little," said Lisanna coldly. "Grimmjow limited his description of you to 'that freaky bastard', and our data on you is limited."
"I am glad to hear it," said the arrancar, "but I fear we are not on even terms. You, like all captains, are well known to us. I studied you all in detail. The most junior of captains, weakest save perhaps Kurotsuchi Mayuri… tell me, does your defeat against our primero still rattle you?"
"It doesn't rattle me nearly as much as facing down the decimo, I'll tell you that much," Lisanna shot back, refusing to let herself be goaded so easily. She held out her blade, ready to make her move at any moment.
"Curious. So very curious. I can smell your fear, young one. All hollows have a nose for it."
"And all weaklings talk when they should fight."
"Your taunt disappoints me, young one."
"Well," said Lisanna, "if you won't come to me, I'll come to you. Rend, Arashi Raijin!"
Her blade morphed into the familiar shapes of the dual set of claws, crackling with the energy of a pent-up storm. She surged forward with intense speed, boosted by the lightning channeling through her weapons, and the hollow only just barely brought up his blade to parry. She launched into a brilliant, rapid set of thrusts, testing her opponent. Aaroniero only barely kept up, nearly overwhelmed. The skulls rattled around inside their tank, and Lisanna cried out loudly, a guttural scream drowning out the cacophony of battle around them. Aaroniero jumped back, avoiding a wide slash, firing a set of bala to distract her. Lisanna zig-zagged out of their way, hardly even breaking her stride. She lashed out with a stab with her right hand, and the espada parried as he had done dozens of times already, but Lisanna had a read on him now. Twisting her wrist at the last moment as he parried, she caught his blade between her claws. She wrenched his weapon to the side as her left came in, stabbing right into his chest. He was already moving away, already moving to evade, but couldn't get away in time. The claws slid inside his ribcage, and Lisanna thrust her arm forward, sinking the blades in all the way to the hilt. With a thought, she channelled a huge surge of electricity into his chest, and the espada twitched and spasmed as his entire form sparked with lightning, groaning with two voices at once. Somehow, he managed to bring his weapon arm to bear, swinging wildly at her head. Forced to abort, Lisanna wrenched the claws free, bending backwards as the sword cut through the space where her head had been a moment ago.
"How talkative are you now, you bastard?" she spat, assuming a stance. The espada twitched again, then righted himself. Despite the smoke rising from his singed clothes, and despite the horrible smell of slightly burnt flesh, he seemed as if he was barely affected.
"Well enough to speak, captain," he retorted mockingly. "This will promise to be quite the duel, I'm sure."
Lisanna spat toward him. So much for a quick battle.
Orihime had seen four men die already. Dozens more seemed ready to join them, men and women both cut down like wheat put to the scythe. The arrancar assault had been swift and brutal, and from the looks of it, it was still ongoing. She could see Isane working tirelessly, spending every moment of her time putting out one fire only for another to erupt. When Isane wasn't up to her elbows in blood, she was giving direction to the beleaguered workers of the field hospital. Without her, everything would likely just fall apart. As Orihime's shimmering shield worked its magic, restoring a young woman back to health, she watched the vice-captain of Fourth with admiration. Anyone who thought less of Fourth Division and what they did had no idea of what it meant to be a medical officer.
"I… I'm alive?"
The woman Orihime had been working on, a lower seated officer judging by her reiatsu level, sat up as the orange light receded. She had come in with her arm half torn off, losing blood quickly. All the worst cases went to Orihime, and although it was shocking to see so much suffering, it also made her proud to know she was valued that highly.
"You lost some blood," said Orihime reassuringly, "but you're fine now."
"This… this is incredible," said the young officer, flexing her healed arm in disbelief. Only her torn and bloodied uniform bore witness to the horribly maimed state the limb had been in only minutes ago. "Thank you. Truly."
"Happy to help," said Orihime. "Now, you need to rest-"
"Sorry," said the officer, grabbing her sword and sitting up, "but not when I'm fit for battle. If I can't give the excuse of being wounded, I need to be out there."
"You need to rest," Orihime protested. "You still lost some blood-"
The officer stood up, and Orihime realized she was determined to go back out there.
"Again, thank you," she said firmly, "but I've got people out there who depend on me. If this is the day we all die, I'll die alongside them if I can."
Orihime watched the officer walk away, gingerly stepping over makeshift sickbeds on her way out. Orihime had only just fixed her. Minutes ago, she had been writhing in agony, her pale white face a mask of terror as arterial blood poured from her mangled stump of an arm. Now, she was going to head back out and do it all over again. It all felt so… pointless. The wounded were filling the hospital quickly, and before long they'd be over capacity. Fourth had done its best with the limited time it had, but there was only so much they could have done. Soon, it would be the same as it had been in Hueco Mundo. Orihime was grateful she hadn't seen it happen, given the harrowed look Isane had had, but she suspected she would soon see what that looked like. She stood upright, wiping the sweat off her brow.
She had promised Erza to stay here, to help in her own way as a healer, but this felt like a scene from Hell, with the moans of the wounded all around her. She briefly wished to be out there with the others, doing her best shoulder-to-shoulder, but… well, it was probably worse there, hard as it was to believe.
Then, staring out into the distance, she saw it first. The field hospital was set up in an office complex appropriated by the Gotei, and through the door opening of the entrance Orihime saw the white dress of an arrancar. She could sense the malice of its energy- strong, but not so strong it seemed overwhelming. The arrancar had come here to pick on the weak. Orihime made her way toward the entrance, and suddenly the choir of moans seemed to fade into the background. It became less important.
"Well, if it isn't one of the humans," said the arrancar maliciously. "She was lean and mean, her hair kept in a sleek ponytail running well down her back, cruel eyes at the centre of a crueller face. Orihime saw the young female officer from before cowering in front of the arrancar, knocked over. The arrancar readied a cero in her hand. The officer shrieked, scrambling back. The arrancar seemed to take her time letting the red orb grow and blossom. However, when it fired, when the red flare faded away, the officer was still alive. A triangular shield had blocked the blast.
"Why don't you pick on a human instead?" said Orihime angrily.
Isane hurried up to stand next to her, sword drawn.
"Listen, Orihime," she said quickly. "Stand back. I'll-"
"The hospital needs you," said Orihime. "I'll handle her."
Isane looked back and forth between the dozens of wounded filling up the hospital and this new enemy, and finally nodded.
"You can handle her?"
"I have to," said Orihime.
"Then I leave it to you."
"Please," sneered the arrancar. "I'll rip your heart out and eat it, you little bitch."
"Alright," said Orihime. "Come and take it, then."
The arrancar seemed a bit taken aback by her defiance. Orihime took the opportunity to pull the young officer to her feet.
"Go on," said Orihime. "You have to go die with your friends, right?"
Stunned, the officer nodded, and hurried away. Orihime took a step forward, the shun shun rikka all zooming around her, ready to do battle.
"I don't know who you are," she said threateningly, "but if you leave us be, I won't hurt you. But, since you're probably going to say no…"
"Figured that out already, huh?" said the arrancar. Orihime's heart was thumping in her chest. This was a real enemy, one out for her life, one that would show no mercy. After all that time expecting war, trying to prepare for it mentally, it had finally come right to her. She would hold firm. She would make Erza proud.
"As I was saying," said Orihime defiantly, "if you want to get at them, you go through me."